Monday, February 9, 2009

Experimental Piece

The windowsill is filled with sand, dust and trash. She scratches at it absently, staring out the window. The square window frames the trees that are slightly swaying in the warm January day. People walk by the window; occasionally they glance at her, in the window, watching them. They always kept walking and she always kept staring out the window. It wasn’t a day for anything else. Some days, all she needs is to stare out into the world.

tip-toeing legs crawl – across the sill and onto – her hand, she shifts her position

However. She tries.She still. lusts. loves. likes. cares.tries.towards something which she is not.

twirling on a whim towards that which she is.onwards the light pulls her, drags her head over feet toes over fingershair flying over thighs

bent in concentration she breaths into her stomach.her belly distends into her things.the lungs are big, so big.

she exhales forever.feeling every emotion she has ever felt in her life….and then some she hasn’t felt, has no name for.

So big is she that she floats upwards until we see her as just a little

speckamongst the clouds. like a balloon, going on towards something better.He sways standing up. He feels drunk. Her smell intoxicated him. he prefers sadness to happiness, but this feeling isn’t something he has experienced before. Unstable he sinks to his knees in front of her. Her smile knows it too. His eyes plead with her to stop. Stop the torture. He doesn’t know how much longer he can take the grip on his chest. He uses thing fingers to rip at his chest, his hair. She reaches out a hand to touch his check and he is calm. She is calm.

He looks like a guy from a Brautigan poem.Awkward hat over hair that isn’t any color. a smile that show perfect teeth, gleaming white. his hands are calloused and there is dirt under his fingernails.patchwork pants and w ine bottle in a bag. he winks at her.And she falls.

languid blue eyesmove like waterlaughing at him with her eyeshe loves herbut her face does not match her wordsher words are sharpthey stab like iciclescold and longthose eyes are the true liarsthey say everything she can’tshe is a manipulator, a liar, a thief.

Standing up she stretches and twist her back away from the window, picking at the dirt from under her fingernails as she walks away.